erroneous, as to make me suspect their authenticity; but, after all,
cooking is not capable of becoming a written science--it is the
philosophy of practice!"

"Ah! by Lucullus," exclaimed I, interrupting my host, "what a visionary
bechamelle! Oh, the inimitable sauce; these chickens are indeed worthy of
the honour of being dressed. Never, my lord, as long as you live, eat a
chicken in the country; excuse a pun, you will have foul fare."

"'J'ai toujours redoute la volaille perfide,
Qui brave les efforts d'une dent intrepide;
Souvent par un ami, dans ses champs entraine.
J'ai reconnu le soir le coq infortune
Qui m'avait le matin a l'aurore naissante
Reveille brusquement de sa voix glapissante;
Je l'avais admire dans le sein de la cour,
Avec des yeux jaloux, j'avais vu son amour.
Helas! la malheureux, abjurant sa tendresse,
Exercait a souper sa fureur vengeresse.'

"Pardon the prolixity of my quotation for the sake of its value."

"I do, I do," answered Guloseton, laughing at the humour of the lines:
till, suddenly checking himself, he said, "we must be grave, Mr. Pelham,
it will never do to laugh. What would become of our digestions?"

"True," said I, relapsing into seriousness; "and if you will allow me one
more quotation, you will see what my author adds with regard to any
abrupt interruption.